the holiday holly bears a berry (as red as any blood)
by tonberrys-and-kuchikopi
Summary: A Black family Christmas mini-series, Renascentia-style. Day 1: Cassiopeia Black (c. 1964), Day 2: The Black Sisters (c. 1971), Day 3: Arcturus (c. 1972), Day 4: Alphard (c. 1961), Day 5: Orion (c. 1969), Day 6: Pollux (c. 1960), Day 7: Lucretia (c. 1960), Day 8: Cygnus (c. 1974), Day 9: Walburga (c. 1963), Day 10: The Black Brothers (c. 1973)
1. Cassiopeia: Christmas of 1964

**Note:** This chapter is written by tonberrys

For the ten days leading up to Christmas, we will be posting a POV Christmas scene from a different member of the Black family, including (in no particular order): Cassiopeia Black, Arcturus Black, Orion Black, Lucretia Black Prewett, Pollux Black, Walburga Black, Bellatrix&Andromeda&Narcissa, Cygnus Black, Alphard Black, and Regulus&Sirius.

* * *

"What _is_ that atrocious thing?" Pollux's voice held a certain measure of drama that brought a smile to Cassiopeia's lips every time. She had yet to step through the threshold of her brother's house - the _ancestral home_ , he loved to say, as though their patriarch cousin Arcturus had not passed it over in disinterest - but already he looked quite ready to send her back home. Technically, she supposed this was _not_ his home anymore, having passed it along to his daughter and Orion, but one couldn't tell from the way he swanned about.

"He's your nephew," she said, and in one arm a lithe black cat was slung, nuzzling her chin from beneath a cascade of ash-blonde hair; yet one would be hard pressed to say with any sort of certainty what color the cat was, snuggled as he was in a fitted, navy blue jumper. The large white star knitted along his back was sprinkled with smaller stars and a subtle weaving of silver. "You really shouldn't call him atrocious."

"I have one nephew. Dorea is the only one of you who isn't useless," Pollux said bitingly, though Cassiopeia was scritching at her cat's ear with a look that implied she wasn't listening. "You're nearly forty years old, Cass. I swear, you didn't even try."

Touching her nose to the cat's, she crooned softly, "Pay him no mind, Mars. You are just as much a part of this family as any of us, and we are going to have a lovely Christmas."

"It's a _cat_."

"How lucky that we cast that criticism-repelling charm before coming. Quite clever, aren't we?" she continued with a smile, skillfully lifting the flap of the small bag slung over her shoulder, and out hopped three more full-grown cats, each in mismatched Christmas jumpers shaded in red, green, and white, possessing of their own unique star-themed patterns.

"Put them back. I never said you could bring those things with you," Pollux said with the start of a grumpy tone ruffling in his voice.

"They get lonely when I'm gone. Besides, it's not as if I can leave them in a bag all day," Cassiopeia said with a shrug as she watched the grey-mottled tabby - Pallas - sniffing cautiously at a floorboard. "Walburga and Orion won't mind." They might mind, but at the very least, they probably wouldn't throw the cats out or feed them to a cabinet.

"They had better not break anything priceless," Pollux muttered with an exacting stare at a golden-orange and white tabby (sweet Maia) pawing precariously at the troll leg umbrella stand. It had the starry forest green jumper on.

"Don't be so overwrought about it." Cassiopeia swept past her brother, followed up the stairs by her three free-roaming cats.

Peeking into the drawing room, she saw two little boys perched at a wizarding chess table. Her great-nephews, growing so much already. The littler one, Regulus, couldn't be more than a few years old, and Sirius not much older than that - named for her deceased cousin and uncle, respectively, though it was hard to tell yet if they would favor their namesakes. Sirius struck her as rather more lively than his.

"You're the white pieces, Reg - Dad said we move the castle one like this. It's called a 'rook,'" Sirius was coaching, and looking quite proud of himself. Neither of them were dressed in a particularly festive manner with their dark robes and smoothed hair, though the green accents on their robes addressed at least half of the Christmas spirit.

The fourth cat, a calico named Corona, hopped up onto the nearest plush chair, and Pallas let out a throaty _mrowr_ that startled the two boys to attention.

"You brought your cats," Regulus said with a subtle air of wonder, turning in his chair to face outward, though he was small enough to still sit criss-crossed in place without issue. "Why are they wearing jumpers?"

"So they don't get cold, and to share in the Christmas cheer," Cassiopeia responded. "Cats are people too." Both boys seemed to think it was a strange answer, but they reached down to greet the sniffing cat-noses, nonetheless.

From beyond the doorway, a younger woman poked her head around, deep brown hair tied up in a braided knot atop her head and a mildly indulgent expression on her face.

"I thought I heard Uncle Pollux griping about furry monsters."

"Be a dear, Lucretia, and take my bag," Cassiopeia said as she slipped it off her shoulder and held it out, still holding the black and blue cat snugly to her chest, "Mars keeps getting tangled in it."

"Of course, Aunt Cass," Lucretia said as she took the bag over her shoulder, though Cassiopeia wasn't an aunt to her (nor was Pollux an uncle) so much as a some-odd cousin. No one gave much mind to the distinction. "Their elf is preparing the roast now, so you are just in time," Lucretia continued, then turned her attention to Sirius and Regulus at the chess table. "I was coming to tell you boys to clean up."

The boys nodded, slipping out of their chairs without argument, sparing their final cat-pats before scampering along their way.

"I suppose I will see you in the dining room, shortly?" Lucretia was saying as Cassiopeia walked in the opposite direction towards the calico flopping to the side on her chair.

"You would be right in supposing that," Cassiopeia responded, and it was not until Lucretia had vanished from the doorway that she permitted her eyes to find the grand family tapestry hanging on the drawing room wall. Names were smattered everywhere, generations of Blacks for hundreds of years, but there was only one that her eyes searched an settled on - a name smothered by a scorching black mark.

Approaching the tapestry, she cuddled Mars closer beneath her chin and reached out with her free hand, daring a brush against the char. In her mind, she could see a little boy with smooth black hair and a gentle disposition, eyes as grey as a pre-storm billow and a moon-light smile.

"Happy Christmas, Marius," she whispered under her breath and kissed the top of the cat's head before turning to join the rest of the family in the dining room, a terrible pang twisting in her chest as she passed the chess table.

It was another Christmas with family, at the very least.


	2. The Black Sisters: Christmas of 1971

**Note:** This chapter is written by kuchikopi

* * *

"Are you sure you don't want to wear the red dress I put out?" Druella cooed at her eldest daughter.

Bellatrix stared her down wordlessly, dressed in her usual black robes and steadfastly refusing to put on the 'Christmas tree' earrings that had been suggested, nor the snowflake necklace that her mother was still holding.

"Can you stop bothering her?" Cygnus said as he walked fleetingly through the entrance way to their home. "She's fine."

"It's just not very festive!" Out came the handkerchief and the almost certainly false sob of horror. "And this is the last year we're all together as a _family_..."

"I'm getting married, not murdered," Bellatrix told her, taking a step back from the situation. She had an inherent dislike of being around her mother crying.

"Oh, I know, I know," Druella said, dabbing her eyes. "You'll understand when it's your little girls growing up and getting married."

Bellatrix, with a heaving sigh, sent a silent prayer for her sisters to hurry up. The last thing she wanted to talk about was the idea of some parasite taking over her body for nine months while she got cooed at.

"Oh, my darling, look at you!"

Narcissa had answered her prayers, strolling down the stairs as if she was making an entrance. Her hair was bound up tight with holly sprigs, and she wore a dark green dress with a white snowflake shawl. She looked utterly ill-equipped for a winter's night and had to be cold, but she showed no signs of it at all.

"You look festive," Bellatrix told her with a quirk of an eyebrow.

Narcissa preened, then faltered. "You look...the same."

"Even a nice deep red lipstick," her mother interjected. "You'd look so pretty."

Of all the things on Bellatrix's mind, looking pretty had never been much of a priority. "I don't think red is a good idea to wear to Aunt and Uncle's, given the unfortunate events in September."

Druella sobered up, putting her hand on her chest for sincerity but never losing the glint of superiority that tended to emerge when one of her children was doing better than their Aunt Walburga's children. The two had never gotten along particularly well, despite being supportive of one another, and a little healthy competition hurt no one. "Of course, we ought to try to be respectful."

If she didn't mention it five times before dinner, Bellatrix would lose a bet. She was beginning to look forward to dinner at the Manor. The worst dramatics you could accuse the Lestranges of was bringing books to the dinner table.

" _What are you wearing?_ "

Their mother's shriek caused Bellatrix to turn her attention back to the staircase and struggle to stifle a snort. Andromeda, it seemed, had taken their mother's festive dressing requirement to its very limit. She was dressed in a short red dress with white fur linings, tights covered in snowflakes, shoes with little mistletoe on them, and perhaps most entertaining of all, a green hat with a large bell at the end. At least it meant people would hear her coming.

"Am I not dressed festively enough?" Andromeda said, sounding worried when she was clearly nothing of the sort.

"That is not what I meant, and you know it!" their mother said crossly.

Cygnus appeared in the hallway. "Are we all ready then?"

Before their mother could speak, Andromeda jumped in. "I think that depends on if we look nice, Daddy."

Oh, she was laying it on bloody thick. Bellatrix looked to Narcissa who was shaking her head. The desire to wind up their mother when she was at her most neurotic was strong in all of them, but Narcissa would not choose to defy, and Bellatrix had no intention of going to a party at their aunt's dressed in a piece so short it looked as if she ought to be working the game in one of Knockturn's back alleys.

Bellatrix was starting to wish she was anywhere but here. She could have spent the day training instead of watching this disaster unfold.

"Yes, yes, you all look very nice," Cygnus said, without looking. "I don't want to be late."

Druella looked daggers at her middle child, who swanned right past her seemingly without noticing. It was going to be a very long day.

* * *

Greetings were exchanged politely upon the arrival of them all at Number Twelve Grimmauld Place. Narcissa had always found the house a little too vertical for her tastes, out of fashion if you will, but she understood the importance of heritage. She saw Evan speaking animatedly with their Uncle Ignatius about the new Quidditch season, and while she couldn't deny it was fun to watch, she really didn't want to listen to it talked about all day.

In her search for better conversation topics, she ran into Great Aunt Cass playing with two of her younger cats. She offered a particularly cute snowy one for Narcissa to hold, but as the dress was new, Narcissa declined and simply asked after the other cats by name. That seemed to make her happy.

She found her Grandmother and Great Aunt Melania chatting in the corner with large glasses of what smelled like some sort of brandy.

Grandma hugged her tightly and told her she looked wonderful. "Like a little diamond," she said.

"How are your studies progressing?" Aunt Melania asked. That side of the family tended to be stalwart in their devotion to academics. Even now, she could see her Great Uncle Arcturus, Uncle Orion, and Aunt Lucretia sitting silent but content with their materials in the same overstuffed chairs in the corner.

"Very well," Narcissa said.

"And perhaps a young man in the picture?" Grandmother asked, before placing her hand on her shoulder. "Oh, look at that blush, do you remember getting that giddy feeling, Melania?"

"No," Melania replied.

She didn't doubt it for a second, but it gave Narcissa the opening she needed to get away from the conversation about boys. Of course she wanted to get married and have babies, but she wasn't ready yet. There would be time to have several. She was only a teenager. Not everyone had children in their teens as her Grandmother and mother had done.

She spotted her salvation coming into the room nervously and took her leave to speak to the youngest resident of the house.

"Hello, dearest," Narcissa said warmly, lightly embracing him so as not to mess with her hair.

"Hello," Regulus smiled, perhaps relieved to see her. It was an awful thing, this sorting business. So much pressure for him.

Narcissa had no doubt he would be sorted without a problem. He had none of his brother's...boisterous behaviour, so there would be no problem at all. "Would you like to come and have some of the apple and cinnamon with me?" she asked, offering him the same reprieve he had unintentionally granted her.

"That sounds wonderful," Regulus replied, as always, sounding much older than his year.

"We'll see if we can find a quiet corner."

Possibly impossible, among this family, but she was nothing if not resourceful at navigating a party.

* * *

Despite the same repetition of conversation there always was at these events ('Muggles are awful! There's traitors everywhere! Why is the Ministry doing nothing! Somebody think of the children!'), Andromeda could not fault the food nor the mulled wine. She noted Narcissa looking at the wine, perhaps debating taking some despite her age, but she apparently decided to play it safe. It was a bit of a pity. She seemed like the type who would make the mistake of taking wine, buck's fizz, and end up very drunk on her first go. It would be safer and much more entertaining to do here.

"And what are you doing now?" 'Aunt' Lucetia asked over dessert.

"I'm working at a plant nursery," Andromeda replied. "It's very interesting to see new plant life created, even if the mandrakes can be a little unruly."

"She's ruining her nails is what she's doing," her mum cried out. "You should see them, it's terrible."

"How awful," Aunt Lucretia deadpanned.

Andromeda barely disguised a snort.

However, both of her younger cousins had been suspiciously quiet all dinner. Perhaps not so unusual for Regulus; he could often be an odd little duck who could spill out a thousand words at once and refuse to say anything at all in the next moment, but perhaps the tension of Sirius's sorting was weighing on them both. Sirius had been slouching down his chair so far that she could barely see below his nose.

"You're not going to climb up the chimney again, are you?" Andromeda asked, as she flopped down next to him after dinner.

"No," he said, the sullen tone of the teenage boy already setting in by eleven.

It seemed so odd to see them growing up. She could remember holding both as babies. She had always taken it as a kindness that Sirius had waited until Narcissa was holding him to spit up.

Andromeda took off her hat and plopped it on his head. He only huffed a laugh.

"It's not the end of the world," Andromeda promised. She had friends in every house, of every type of blood, and honestly thought the prevailing opinion of the house to be quite ridiculous.

"They're still mad about James," Sirius sulked.

"Ah," Andromeda said. The party a few nights ago had been attended by the only pureblood friend Sirius had made, and it hadn't gone very well. He had corrected Aunt Walburga on her use of 'mudblood' vs 'muggleborn,' and the young man's parents had to be owled. She could understand why Sirius would be upset. For a moment, she didn't know what to say to that. She just put her arm around his shoulders and let a sloppy kiss on the squirming preteen's head instead, just to make him squeak. "Change takes time."

"How much time?" he asked.

"I don't have a schedule to keep to," Andromeda rolled her eyes. "But the head of the house makes the decisions, and that'll be you one day, when Uncle Arcturus is gone."

"I think he's already gone," Sirius said.

Andromeda looked over to find that indeed, her uncle (cousin really, but that was harder to explain) had indeed shut his eyes. He'd been dragged into conversation with her mother and and Aunt Dorea, so she supposed that was why. Faking your own death was certainly one way to get out of awkward conversations.

"That was rude," she said, trying not to laugh.

"I can be rude and honest or lie and be polite, but I can't do both," Sirius replied.

"Who said that?" Andromeda asked.

Sirius crinkled his nose. "I just did."

"No, I mean," she giggled. "It sounds like a quote."

"It's not," Sirius said. "I'm just very wise."

"Perhaps you ought to have been a Ravenclaw," Andromeda said.

Sirius looked aghast at the idea. "He might be."

She didn't have to look for Regulus, speaking quietly with Evan. "Perhaps," she said, though she could see a hunger there which reminded her of Bellatrix's, and perhaps herself. One she did not see in Sirius, with his give 'em hell defiance.

"It's a new generation," she said with a wink. "Anything could happen."


	3. Arcturus: Christmas of 1972

**Note:** Written by tonberrys

* * *

Diagon Alley was bursting with the spirit of Christmas shoppers, and as a rather rude young man bumped against Arcturus Black without apology or acknowledgement, he was lamenting - not for the first time that day - whatever madness had possessed him and Melania to brave Diagon Alley on Christmas. Their shopping had been completed some time ago, responsibly-minded as they were, but whatever pretense Melania might have drummed up, the streets were to be fluttering with strung, glowing fairies at dusk. Although his sternly-mannered wife was unlikely to admit as much, he knew she thought they were quite a lovely sight to behold, even if it meant crossing paths with the thronging rabble, even briefly.

Arcturus might have agreed, if not for the raucous protesters mouthing off about a fairy's right to fly free and the horrifying domestication of magical creatures. Muggles, no doubt, with their lack of understanding when it came to magical tradition. He had been considering, quite seriously, the risks and benefits of a well-aimed nonverbal silencing charm to the loudest of the lot when the whole alley erupted into frantic chaos, the crowds parting and crashing like asynchronous waves.

He felt something charge against his ankles, but by the time his eyes dropped to the ground, he saw nothing but tailored robes and sharp-toed shoes (which were now significantly less polished than they had been upon leaving the manor). Overhead a few ravens were soaring, and when he traced their trajectory back to its source, he saw a tiny stream of creatures pouring from the Magical Menagerie as the shop owners scrambled to grab them.

Melania's startled yelp suggested she, too, had felt an unexpected brush or bump, and as she looked to him with the start of a tiny scowl, he sensed that she, too, had felt her appreciation plummet.

"I have had quite enough of this excitement," he remarked dryly, "if you are ready to return home."

"Let's," she said with a crinkled nose, shifting her silver-laced handbag on one arm as she threaded the other through her husband's arm, held up in a gentlemanly offer. "The others will be arriving for dinner in approximately a half-hour, anyway, and I need to make sure Locky pulls everything together correctly. I do miss Pippy sometimes."

"Of course," Arcturus said dispassionately as they disappeared from the bustle with a _crack_.

The sun was already setting as they arrived back on their property in Guernsey, the evening light casting shadows out from the trees and cooling the grey stone of a towering manor. Unthreading his arm from Melania's, Arcturus scaled the steps of their home and opened the door to let his wife pass first, then followed her inside.

They were not particularly ostentatious when it came to decorative displays, regardless of the season, but ivy had been woven tastefully along the railing of the staircase like some leafy serpent, dotted with holly sprigs up to the top, and thin, subtle garlands of gold and silver twinkled atop bookcases and cabinets with an enchanted sort of glint. It was their home, this year, that would host the family's Christmas dinner, and the highest priority he could imagine in that moment was finding a quiet place to restore of the social energy drained by their little outing to Diagon.

(Alas, it was not to be.)

"Arcturus!" Melania was shrieking from the foyer. His wife did not typically 'shriek,' of course, but he could think of no other way to describe the grating sound she had made, and as he turned back around to address her terribly unspecific call, he saw that there was a tiny niffler perched atop her head, paws tangling in the plaits of silvery hair. "Get it off of me!" she said sharply, swatting at the space of her head, but the little creature just swung its body around to her shoulder, seeming to accept the opportunity as a chance to grab at the thin gold chain of her necklace.

Pulling out his wand, Arcturus approached to take more precise aim, but the little niffler seemed recognize what he was doing. Shoving the necklace into the pouch of its stomach, it lept from her shoulder to the nearest table display where it subsequently knocked a decorative plate to the floor with a shatter and started stuffing away the twinkling garland.

"Where did it come from?" Arcturus asked with growing irritation in his voice. He shot a stunning spell toward the table, but the niffler had already pounced across to an unlocked cabinet to start stuffing a set of emerald encrusted spoons in its pouch.

"Diagon Alley, I expect," she responded as she bolted over to the cabinet to try to grab it.

"I gathered that much," Arcturus said dryly, "I meant how did it get _here_. Did you not see or feel it crawl into your bag? I assume that is how the little monster managed it."

"There was a lot of bumping and chaos," Melania said defensively, grasping for the niffler's bill as it scurried between her legs. "Darling, it's going for the-"

With a frantic speed, the niffler was shoving crystal goblets into its stomach pouch before, punctuated by the sound of a solid knock on the door.

"Tell whoever it is to go away," Arcturus said, casting another stunning spell as the niffler scampered out of the smaller dining area to pilfer the next room.

Melania cracked opened the door and made every effort to keep the despair from her face when she saw her daughter, dressed in silver and donning a smile - a smile she kept on her face even as a crash sounded from beyond the door, though her brow lifted. "Ignatius will be here shortly, but I thought I would come and make certain you didn't need anything before the party."

"Now is perhaps not the best time, dearest," Melania said with a strained smile of her own.

Lucretia's eyes flicked to the side, where she could just barely see the remains of the porcelain place on the floor. "Perhaps I can help receive people at the door while you tend to last minute necessities."

A pause.

"That...sounds like a well-reasoned idea," Melania said, opening the door the rest of the way to let her daughter step in.

"Lucretia arrived early," Melania called to the other room, "She is going to receive anyone who arrives, and I will set to repairs."

From the other room, Arcturus bit back a groan. The thought of his grown daughter having to help them set the house to rights was frustrating beyond measure, but it was a small blessing it was not Orion and Walburga and their boys instead - or worse still, _Pollux_ and Irma. Arcturus was certain he would never hear the end of it for Christmases to come.

For some time, Arcturus searching for the errant creature, peeking in closets and washrooms, but it was in the drawer of a spare bedroom's vanity that he finally found the niffler. When Arcturus approached with an arm outstretched to grab the creature with rather less dignity than he would have liked, the niffler stuck a gold-plated mirror into its pouch and scrambled under the bed with a squeak. Grunting in annoyance, he pointed his wand to the bed and muttered a tight-lipped, " _Accio niffler!_ "

The tiny creature zipped out from under the bed and hurled through the air toward him; gracefully, Arcturus grabbed it en route. Curling his lips in distaste, he shifted the niffler to hold it by its scruff and stepped out of the bedroom to inform Melania of the capture. Through the window, he could see his grandsons peeking inside as a knock sounded, and in one smooth motion, he turned back around again to shut himself in the spare bedroom, shutting it securely behind. They were finally both in Hogwarts now, and he was not interested in testing their Care of Magical Creatures knowledge, if they had not known it already.

With a put upon sigh, Arcturus turned the creature upside down and began shaking it, watching as their valuables poured liberally out onto the bed - the necklace, the goblets, the garland, the mirror, the spoons, a number of other trinkets the creature had grabbed along the way, and several items Arcturus was quite certain did not belong to them. When at least the niffler was emptied of shimmering contents, Arcturus cast a swift petrifying spell, stuck the niffler in the chest at the end of the bed, and stepped out, finding that his son's family had been invited in, as he suspected they would be. With a final swish of his wand, he locked the door and re-entered the foyer.

"Was that a niffler?" Sirius asked, craning his neck to look around his grandfather.

"No," Arcturus deadpanned.

The two boys exchanged a look, but as their grandfather darkened his expression, they seemed to decide against pressing the question further.

Arcturus suspected it was going to be a long Christmas.


	4. Alphard: Christmas of 1961

**Note:** Written by kuchikopi

* * *

London was dreary. Despite the promises of an idyllic Christmas, Alphard's arrival back in Blighty was heralded by ice, smog, and not even an inch of snow. If his father and uncle (or cousin, honestly, it was easy to lose track in the old families) were not both obstinate mules, he would have suggested having a Christmas abroad. A warm beach sounded lovely, if untraditional, and so many of their number were traditionalists. Perhaps when the children were a bit older, it would be possible to convince everyone, as it would occupy them. It did raise the unfortunate image of his father in beach shorts, which was not helped when he opened the door to Number Twelve.

(Although it had been passed to his sister and her husband about five years before, their father still had a tendency to think he lived there.)

"Is there a reason you're standing on the doorstep giggling like you've lost your mind?"

Alphard shrugged. "If you'll step back, I'll giggle like a loon within the house."

Expectedly, his dear father just gave him a withering look and stalked back into the house. He didn't seem in too bad of a mood, however. Alphard already knew the cause of that. He followed the smell of cinnamon and cloves up to the drawing room where he was confronted by the groups of family as they tended to gather: The Reading Corner, none of whom had books at the moment but were perhaps somehow absorbing them from the bookcase in lieu of it. A staunch corner with the smell of hot toddies, undoubtedly what had drawn his attention, was quickly joined by his father to talk about something terribly boring. Property taxes or something of that sort. A gaggle of women were sitting at the window with the bassinet, including his mother.

"Hello, mother," he said, leaning over to kiss her cheek. She at least looked quite happy to see him, if somewhat pre-occupied. "Is this the new one?"

"The new one," his mother said, instantly looking back to the child. "He's a baby, not a new broom."

It had been four, perhaps five months since the birth of the second boy into the family in a generation, and the collective sigh of relief was still colouring the festivities. You would think his father had squatted and given birth to the thing himself, the amount he had written about it. You had to learn to skim-read with his father's correspondence. Still, he wasn't averse to having another nephew – Sirius had just turned two. This one was quite a bit tinier, but perhaps he just wasn't as chubby as his brother had been. He seemed far more fascinated by his own fingers than the women around him. In all honesty, the fingers probably gave a more engaging conversation.

"It must be so lovely to get out of all of that heat," Melania said.

Yes, much worse than black ice, crowded streets, and a bland food.

"You're getting a tan, though," Druella said. "We're considering Italy this year. The girls should travel a little before they go to school; it's such an enriching experience."

"Are you using the salve I sent?" Mum immediately demanded. "You have skin like paper, you'll burn."

"I'm taking my skin care seriously," he reassured. "Where are the girls?"

"Bellatrix is with her father," Druella said. "She's still at that age where she doesn't like to be seen fawning over babies."

"Some of them don't grow of out that," his mother said. Ah, the snide commentary. He was wondering when it would be coming.

"Excuse me, I better find the hostess before she thinks I'm rude," he said, mostly as an excuse to get out of the group.

Instead, he managed to find the girls and bestow their usual gifts. Bella would have to wait until later, but he imagined she'd quite like cursed objects. Cygnus' youngest, a porcelain doll of a six-year-old, he gave a doll of her own. Andromeda was getting a little older, bordering upon nine, so she seemed to be enjoying having a camera.

"You're late," Walburga said, in-keeping with her usual lack of tact. She was down in the dining room, supervising what looked like organised chaos.

"I took the boat," Alphard gave as explanation.

"And that hair dye is fooling no one," she added. "You look like you're having some sort of mid-life crisis. "

Unlike the rest of jovial festivities, Walburga tended to take the holidays too seriously. Everything had to be perfect, and with the world's fussiest people in their mother and Cygnus' wife looking on, she tended to work herself into a terrible mood.

"Is that bump number three or are you just bloated?" he responded mildly.

"Have you actually seen your nephew yet?" she said, before redoing one of the perfectly fine place settings.

"Yes," he answered truthfully. "But aside from the occasional outlier, you've seen one baby in this family, you've seen all of them."

As if she suddenly thought of it, his sister turned on her hell to face him. "You didn't bring that woman, did you?"

"No," Alphard said.

"You're a decade too old to be going around calling a woman a 'lover' and running off to fanciful places." And the responsibility rant was coming. "This house should have been yours, and instead you're gallivanting off and don't have the decency to have children of your own."

"I suppose I might have one or two," he shrugged. "I don't generally ask about the aftermath."

"I'm going to hex the person who told you that you were funny," she grumbled.

"You're going to hex your mother?" he asked. "Will you calm down? Everything looks wonderful."

"Has anyone, upon being told calm down when they were agitated, ever actually calmed down?" Walburga said, before exploding at what he believed was his grandmother's house elf rather than her own. "WHY IS THAT ONE RED? WHY WOULD YOU SET SIX GREEN AND THEN PUT IN A RED? UTTER _INCOMPETENCE_!"

Alphard decided it was probably quieter back in the drawing room.

Of course, it turned out that the drawing room was not particularly quiet either.

It seemed that someone, undoubtedly Druella, had decided an excellent use of her daughter's gift was to try and get a family portrait, but it seemed as if someone had woken up a very irritable toddler from a nap too early, judging by the meltdown. Andromeda was valiantly trying to keep hold of the squirming toddler on her knee, where her younger sister was settled quietly with the baby on the other side of the sofa. Bellatrix stood behind the sofa, looking ready to scream out anyone who suggested she give it a try.

There was a variety of ideas being put forward:

"Has anyone tried giving him the whisky? It worked with the children when they were young."

"It just requires a firm hand, and saying to stay still."

"Perhaps we should just take the photograph; it's certainly realistic."

Though he had little experience around babies themselves, Alphard did have some experience breaking a language barrier. Generally, giving someone something like they tended to calm them down, and most people seemed to find chocolate to be an excellent ice breaker. He went over into the shot - much to the annoyance of Ignatius, who was waving him away, as he had the most camera experience (apparently) - and encouraged each of the girls to take a piece. Then he put one in Sirius' hand, which resulted in the desired effect - though blotched red, he was quiet and still.

"I'd take it quickly if I were you," he said, pushing to get out of the way.

They managed to get in two photographs before the toddler vomited, not over Andromeda, but his little brother and youngest cousin – who promptly shrieked, and the baby had to be taken off her. Personally, he thought the look on her face made it a much more interesting photograph, but after Druella's shrieking, he promised to destroy those ones and give her the nice ones. He did the latter, but kept the others as well – it was something to show both Sirius and Narcissa once they had their own respective babies on the way.

The realities of family.


	5. Orion: Christmas of 1969

**Note:** Written by tonberrys

* * *

Christmas wound down to silence and shadows as the Blacks of Number Twelve Grimmauld Place settled into their home, worn from a night of social engagement at Cygnus and Druella's holiday-decked townhouse in Mayfair - and the most drained of them, Orion. Whatever small reprieve could be found in the subdued company of his father and elder sister was effectively outweighed by the sheer number of occupants that continued to surrounded them, holiday in and holiday out (without even touching on the zealousness so many of them embodied). Ever the enthusiastic hostess, Druella had spoken at him for some forty-five minutes about something he could not for the life of him remember; the house-elf's service was unremarkable; and the live fairies they had strung about struck him as more than a little bit over-the-top for a household celebration; but all of the children had behaved relatively well for the duration of the evening. There were no toads set loose at the supper table, which was an improvement upon the year before.

Surrounded as he had been by splashes of red and green and gold and silver, the holiday spirit had done more to drain than sustain, and Orion wasted no time in breaking away from his wife and sons to hole away in the office.

He was scarcely settling back into the Prophet - from the morning on, it had been one interruption after another, with bids for attention and hurried meals and last minute scrambles as if the holiday did not come at the same time every single year - when the gentlest knock tapped at the door to his study. He had half a mind to ignore it and leave the question to Walburga, or perhaps even to Kreacher, but the boys had been quite well-behaved all evening (even Sirius, however boisterous his disposition). History indicated he could have come out of that party far more exhausted than he was, and for that, Orion could spare one more moment.

"Come in," he granted through the door, lowering his newspaper just slightly to peek over the top.

Regulus peeked in first, his dark hair still neatly combed and smoothed in a sweep across his forehead, and behind him - nearly a head taller at just ten years old - was Sirius, with hair a little less maintained. There was no such thing as a perfect night, he supposed.

"What do you need?" Orion asked, lowering the newspaper slightly more as they approached with feather-light feet.

"We've been practicing what you showed us in that book, and-" Sirius held up a round package, childishly wrapped with spell-o-tape, "-and we know presents are for Christmas morning, but we couldn't wait."

"Learning to wait is an important skill," Orion said evenly, but when the boys exchanged a look, he held out his hand to the side of the wide oak desk. "Let's see it, then."

The gift was heavy for its size as it was pressed into his hand, though it was no heavier than he could have conceivably guessed. Two pairs of grey eyes stared up at him beseechingly, tiny mirrors of a time long-passed, and without further delay, he carefully unwrapped the present, peeling back the spell-o-tape and untwisting the paper.

Inside was a glass ball supported by a silver stand, and inside the glass ball was water, filled to a third. Orion had been peering at it for only a few seconds when his elder son, seemingly impatient with the examination, urged him, "Touch the glass." Seeming to realise the bluntness, the boy added, "If you want to see what it does."

Orion turned his attention to Regulus, who must have been staring intently at his face until their eyes met, resulting an immediate shift in attention down to the glass ball in his hand. Orion placed the ball on his desk, the water gently sloshing and settling as he pressed the pad of his index finger to the surface. Immediately, a light frost spread from the spot like a creeping web, chilling the glass.

"Happy Christmas," Regulus said, piping in for the first time in his small, understated voice, though his eyes were bright.

In return, Orion tipped a subtle nod. "Happy Christmas."

"If you hold you finger on the glass," Sirius was saying with brimming excitement, "It'll start to snow, or something like it."

Orion did as was suggested, and the frost seemed to spread, and along the edges of the water, little flurries subtly began to billow. He watched it for a moment longer before retracting his hand and looking between the two boys. With another incline of the head, he said, "I see. Well done, both of you."

Sirius and Regulus exchanged another look, this time time with smiles creeping onto their faces, though as they looked back to Orion, there was a degree of uncertainty in their hesitant shifts.

"Now it's off to bed with you. We all must rest before the morning's festivities," Orion said, meeting their eyes in turn and seeing a certain measure of desperate adoration before they said their goodnights and pattered out the door again. Through the crack, he could see little Regulus stop and turn around the pull the door closed again with a soft click.

Silence filled each crevice of the room once again, and in that silence, Orion felt his curiosity rise again. This time, he touched several fingers to the glass, watching the way the frosted webs intersected, spreading and sliding as he moved his fingers over the surface. Impressive charmwork for children who had yet to cross the threshold of Hogwarts - unsurprising, with all the raw talent their family could boast, but a point of pride, nonetheless. The boys must have borrowed their mother's wand, or perhaps even his own, though he could not recall being without it at any particular point in time.

His palm was starting to burn, and only then did he remove it, watching the flurries as they settled back into the pool of water. The charm bled its cold through the glass, making it uncomfortable to hold for too long, but that was to be expected when they were yet so young. They would be remarkable wizards someday - he could feel it in his bones, and for a moment, he tried to picture what they might look like as they grew older, whether Regulus's features would continue to favor his own, and Sirius, his mother's. There were so many years ahead of them, so many more accomplishments to boast, and though he had felt the tiniest flicker of annoyance at their intrusion, it had quite thoroughly fallen away like dusty snow from a rustled leaf.

Orion Black spread out the Daily Prophet again, but it was with one hand that he flipped the pages this time. The other brushed occasional presses to the glass ball, drawing up its tiny flurries.


	6. Pollux: Christmas of 1960

**Notes:** Written by kuchikopi

* * *

There was something going on.

Pollux couldn't say for sure what it was, but there was an atmosphere to Number Twelve that certainly had not been here last year. Of course, he and Irma had hosted last year, given that there was a seven-week-old baby (a boy, _finally_ ), and Irma had always been an experienced socialite. But even accounting for that, there were entirely too many things happening to be considered a coincidence.

First, and foremost had been the addition of Aunt Belvina to the festivities. She had not attended a Christmas with her own house since his father had passed away almost twenty years ago, preferring to spend it at one of her children's homes or with Bertie when he was still around. She had taken over the large, overstuffed chairs in the drawing room and was currently cooing over Cygnus' youngest daughter.

"Aren't you transcendent?" she said. "I don't think I've seen you since you were baby."

Judging by the look on Narcissa's face, that was likely true. Perhaps she was wondering if she'd end up looking like that in seventy years or just wondering who she was. At least she looked attentive.

"Say thank you," he heard Druella hiss quietly.

"Thank you," the girl responded.

"They're all lovely in their own way. Little ravens and a dove," Aunt Belvina sighed. "I don't know how you stopped after three with such lovely girls."

His eldest son barely contained himself. Clearly he'd had too much to drink on an empty stomach. "He had to study for his NEWTs."

Although true, there was no need to say it. Perhaps not _that_ true, though he had gotten more E's than O's at OWL, it was to be expected, given it coincided with a newborn Andromeda. More than a little disappointing that at least one of them hadn't been a boy, but he supposed Narcissa would have made a very odd-looking boy. She looked far too much like her mother for his liking.

"Where is your sister?" Pollux interrupted. That was another mystery of the night. Though Walburga had never been a social creature, you could usually have heard her in Diagon Alley by now with the incompetence of house-elves. (Elladora really did have the right idea.) Instead, she'd been quietly disappearing in and out all day.

"She doesn't need to study for her NEWTs, she's thirty-five." and thank Merlin, Irma put some of the snacks on his plate to soak up some of that wine before he embarrassed them both.

Giving up on that avenue of information, he turned himself to the corner that time and all sense of charisma forgot. "Orion?"

"Hmm?" He didn't bother looking up from the paper. Like father, like bloody son. He swore the only reason this marriage was worth a damn was the fact there was finally an heir. Everyone else was useless.

"My daughter," he said.

"Walburga," he replied.

"The last I enquired, I only had the one." Pollux was getting the distinct impression he was being deliberately obtuse. Or perhaps that was just what he looked like. "Where is she?"

"I imagine doing something with the baby," Orion said, turning the page.

"For the last hour," he asked.

"He's a large baby. Perhaps it takes longer."

"Is he eating solids?" Druella asked. "My girls were at his age."

"I would have no idea," Orion said. "Ask Walburga."

"Something I'd like to do if I knew where to find her," Pollux said, annoyance slipping into his tone.

As per usual, when he wanted a job done, he had to go and do it himself. He turned her appearances over in his mind – only three since they'd arrived: once to greet them, another to great Aunt Belvina, and once to announce the time of dinner, fast approaching. He didn't particularly believe that a toddler required an hour to feed and put down, but he headed up to the next landing and almost went flying over another one of Cassiopeia's damned cats.

Then there was the all too familiar sound of retching; he'd raised three children and been around heavy wine drinkers all of his life. Did that mean she'd had a few too many, same as her brother, or had she sampled the food and something had gone wrong? If the food was ruined, the whole day would be ruined, and Arcturus would never, ever forget it. Perhaps she was ill. If she was ill, Irma would take over duties, and no one would know. He simply had to fetch her.

"What's the matter?" Irma asked, after he beckoned her into the hallway. "Is dinner late?"

"It could be ruined," he said.

" _What?_ " Irma said, eyes widening in horror.

"Walburga is in the...powder room," he said. "Go and find out what's going on. You may need to take over."

If today was going to be ruined, he would need something considerably stronger than boiled, spiced wine.

* * *

By the time Melania had raised the baby, who was looking less like a baby and more like a toddler with an unfortunately large forehead that he would hopefully grow into, Irma reappeared at the door and with all the subtlety of an erumpet in a china shop, beckoned him to the door.

"I believe Irma would like something," Arcturus said, dryly.

Pollux glared back. "Yes, thank you, I see that."

His wife practically pulled his arm off, tugging up past what looked yet another one of Cassiopeia's disease carriers. "Is it that bad?" he whispered loudly. "Do we need to move everyone?"

"No! No, it's alright," Irma said, but she didn't sound upset at all. If anything, she sounded...giddy, like when she had a bit of news of one of the ladies she didn't like falling down on the ice or their children humiliatingly marrying below their station. "Everything is fine."

"The food isn't off," he double-checked.

"No," she looked around, conspiratorially. "Oh, I know I said I wouldn't say anything, but..."

Ah, that explained it. Irma had always been fit to burst if there was a secret to be had. "What?"

"There's going to be another baby!" She broke into a wide smile and kissed his cheek in an excited manner. "Isn't that wonderful?"

Wonderful was underplaying it. It was the best news he'd had all year. Another little boy, undoubtedly. While his boys were varying degrees of useless, his eldest had always understood the importance of the family and tradition. But he'd known, as Alphard had pointed out earlier, that they were both getting older, and there had been a few misfires, so the chances of a new baby were getting more and more slim. But despite the odds, she'd come through again. He was fit to burst!

"An heir and a spare," he said, quite jovially. "Thank Merlin for all that."

"Another baby," she sighed happily.

Then the thought occurred to him. "But then she ought to be resting! Running about after the family in her condition isn't good for the baby."

"Oh, you mustn't say anything, she doesn't want people to know yet," Irma said, looking more serious. "Just in case."

"Obstinate," he said, but there was no real heat to it. Another baby, indeed.

* * *

"The stuffing is delicious!" Irma exclaimed. She'd been struggling to contain her good mood for the last hour and had been receiving enough looks that Pollux knew they were speculating she was drunk. As hands had not attempted to wander, he knew she wasn't.

"Do you want more wine, Druella?" Lucretia asked, topping off the glass without waiting for an answer.

Then she poured one for Walburga, and he pulled the glass away so swiftly it spilled a little on the table cloth.

"She's _thirty-five_ , let her drink if she wants to." Alphard was already rolling his eyes at him. He couldn't talk. That boy was wrong in the head and had no sense of tradition at all. He had arrived wearing sunglasses _in winter_.

"A glass or two is good for you," Cassiopeia said, clearly smuggling some of the bacon to one of her felines.

"And you couldn't do it last year, " Druella said. "You can't when you're still feeding the babies."

"And perhaps next year you'll have the same problem," Melania said, softly. "There's still some time."

He could do without the passive aggressive commentary, but he had noticed that Walburga – always keen to hold her own in an argument – had been staying a stony silent.

"I'm fine, thank you," she gritted out.

"Really, if you just want a glass-" Druella said.

"I said I'm fine!" Walburga responded.

"Don't get worked up," Irma said, "It's not good for either of you."

Silence hit the dinner table. Walburga shot a sharp look at her mother, sitting back against the chair in a sulk she was entirely too old to be having.

It was Aunt Belvina who broke the silence. "Dearest, you shouldn't drink wine if you think you might be in the family way."

"Well, are you?" Druella asked.

"Why wouldn't you say something?" Cygnus said, clearly looking for the non-existent signs of a baby.

"Because it's still early!" Walburga pressed her lips into a hard line and clenched her jaw. "We were going to wait until after the new year."

Orion, to his credit, didn't seem all perturbed. "We haven't known a week yet."

"But that's wonderful news, darling," Melania cooed. "Another new baby so soon."

"You didn't waste any time at all, did you?" Ignatius winked at the two of them, to which Orion just looked uncomfortable (he usually did, so perhaps nothing unusual), and Walburga simply rolled her eyes.

* * *

It was after dinner - when all of the excitement had died down and people were either getting ready to leave or retire to different rooms - that Pollux eventually found his daughter and wife talking about it.

"I didn't want people to know," Walburga insisted. "Now if something goes wrong, we have to tell everyone."

"At least you're trying," Pollux pointed out. "Druella is useless, and do not get me started on Alphard."

"Besides," Irma said, taking her hand, "We just have to be smarter about it. I know you don't like having people here or accepting help, but it's a delicate thing, especially with a toddler in the house. We'll get the nurse in full time so you don't need to worry. You'll get plenty of relaxation and eat right, and this time next year, a brand new little baby will be sitting with us."

Walburga huffed. "It may be a girl."

"Well, that would be alright too," Irma said, as if that wouldn't be a terrible disappointment. "They tend to have more common sense. Just look at you and Alphie, hmm?"

Walburga sighed, letting loose a long, lingering breath. "Just no one else, mother. Not until I can at least feel him moving for myself."

"I promise," Irma said, solemnly.

As they sent the elf to get their coats, Pollux was quite sure she was already trying to figure a way to subtly hint at it at her next ladies luncheon. By New Year, half of society would know. Irma had spectacular reach, he thought affectionately.

"Shall we go?"


	7. Lucretia: Christmas of 1960

**Note:** Written by tonberrys

This, unlike the other installments, directly follows the previous chapter, taking place at the same Christmas gathering - just from Lucretia's POV instead of Pollux's.

On another note, this chapter briefly explores characters struggling with infertility. I know that can be a difficult subject for some people (I have some friends who are going through it), so I wanted to give that heads up.

* * *

Lucretia found her little brother walled off behind a book, much to no one's surprise, though the majority of the family was still buzzing around Walburga in the dining room. Another baby in the family, and so soon, with little Sirius barely toddling around. Their blood was dwindling, the name dwindling even more, and such news could overshadow the dull monotony of another Christmas in an instant.

"Must be a fascinating page you have there," Lucretia said keenly, sitting in the overstuffed chair next to Orion's and leaning her loosely folded forearms to the edge of it. There was quite a scent lingering in the cushions (one she did not need to lean in to give it whiff, strong as it was): a floral something or other, though she was never very skilled at picking such things apart. "Did you pick this spot because you thought no one would brave i _eau de Belvina_ /i?"

"The thought may have crossed my mind."

"Joke's on you, Rion. Had the universe been more cruel, I might have actually i _been_ /i Aunt Belvina," she chided playfully, though her expression remained a picture of neutrality. "What is so interesting that you would need to stare at the page for five solid minutes? You don't read that slowly."

"I haven't been," Orion objected cooly.

"You have. I was watching from the doorway," Lucretia said matter-of-factly, propping her elbow and fitting her chin delicately in her hand.

Not even the faintest flicker upset her brother's expression, but she could hear it in his tone when he spoke - a hint of annoyance. "Spying, are we?"

"Observing," she countered gently.

Her brother said nothing more, flipping the page.

Twisting around, Lucretia plucked a book from the shelf and was preparing to settle in for a read when the all-too-familiar tones of her husband's call cut into the room.

"Ah, there he is. The man of the hour," Ignatius said warmly as he approached the siblings. The curl of his ginger hair was starting to loosen from its comb-over, giving his face a more relaxed look, though Lucretia could admit that he was one of the few people in the walls of this house who did not require wine or mead to be jovial. Though the space was limited, Ignatius had set to situating himself between Lucretia and the far side of her oversized chair, and without comment, she shifted slightly to permit it. "Unsurprising that you found him first, Lu," he added, pressing a kiss to her temple.

"My sister is not a toilet," Orion said dryly without looking up from his book, and not for the first time.

"No, but she was a royal flush of a catch," Ignatius said, meeting his wife's eyes with a charming smile. Lucretia swatted him gently with a tinge of embarrassment but made no move to push him from the chair.

Orion flattened his mouth further, if it was possible. "I'm going to retch."

"Quite a lot of that going on tonight," Ignatius remarked, "from what I hear. I wonder if it will be a boy or a girl."

"Probably another boy," Lucretia said with a nod, "Cygnus seems to have the market cornered on girls already."

"We shall see," Orion said noncommittally, though Lucretia suspected without indication that he must hope as much.

The conversation died out then, but in truth, Lucretia did not mind so much. Unflappable though her brother might be, he had to feel the energy buzzing around them, far more tangible than the Christmas pudding or the lightly dispersed garland strung about. Expectation weighed heavily upon them all, but perhaps his success with little Sirius was enough to lighten the burden. Quiet settled around them like dust, and when at last Lucretia cracked her book open, Ignatius excused himself to check the current state of her other family members (or at least she assumed that is what he meant by 'investigate the twitters and navigate the blusters.') Before too long, the party migrated back in her direction anyway, and though she did not lift her eyes from the book, she could hear that Walburga was still facing a relentless onslaught of direct and indirect remarks about the tiny baby forming inside of her. The look on her cousin's face indicated that she'd prefer to be anywhere else, and when Sirius started fussing in that way tired toddlers seemed to do, Walburga saw her opportunity to seize.

"I'm going to put Sirius down for the night," Walburga stated tightly as she stood, her expression hardening as Aunt Irma brushed a hand on her arm.

"You don't need to fuss about, stay down here and relax! I'll put him down," Walburga's mother was saying with an exhausting enthusiasm bubbling just beneath her words.

The look on Walburga's face suggested that 'staying down here' was the furthest thing she could imagine from 'relaxing,' and Lucretia could not argue against such a conclusion.

Walburga had scooped up the toddler and was passing towards the door when at last Lucretia tore her attention from her book. Irma was still calling to her daughter from across the room, and Lucretia was careful to keep the sympathy from her voice as she said, "I can come along with you to help."

Walburga measured her for a moment, as if trying to determine the blow it might strike to her handle of the situation, but the conclusion seemed to be an insignificant one because she nodded her consent, much to the chagrin of the other women in the room. She did not wait for Lucretia to stand before continuing out the door, but in truth, Lucretia was not too bothered by that either. She had shared a dorm room with her cousin for seven years at Hogwarts, and as difficult as Walburga Black might be, those little protections of pride had long-since lost their sting.

The two women had reached the nursery before the silence was broken again. "I would be delighted to put him to bed, if you would like some time to yourself," Lucretia offered, watching how the little boy squirmed stubbornly away from the doorway before them.

"I am quite capable of putting my own child to sleep. I'm not an invalid," Walburga said sharply, despite the tired look in her eyes.

"That's not in question, whatever they might be saying downstairs," Lucretia said wryly, "I just want to spend a little bit of time with my nephew, if you don't mind it."

For a moment, Walburga looked as though she might mind it, but as quickly as it had come, that moment passed in favor of the promise of a break from both her fussing toddler and the incessant obsession with her stomach that raged on downstairs. Or at least Lucretia guessed as much. "Very well," Walburga was saying as she shifted the writhing toddler on her hip to hand him over.

Lucretia settled the little boy on her own hip with a nod before disappearing into the nursery, shutting the door behind her with a soft click, and though he made soft little noises of objection when he was put down in his bed, she was grateful for the way he kept the worst of his wails to himself. Lowering the nearest wall of the crib, she brushed an affectionate hand over his hair and rubbed his back until the fussing steadily faded to the soft sounds of breathing.

Exhausting though he seemed to be, he was a charming child, and though she hated it, a certain hole in her chest gaped wider than ever as his little grey eyes fluttered closed.

Lucretia was not certain how long she had sat with her nephew, rubbing his back as he drifted to sleep, but it was long enough to draw her husband's attention back from wherever he had wandered off to.

"Lucretia," he whispered from the cracked doorway. She possessed half a mind to pretend she hadn't heard, but instead, she merely inclined her head in acknowledgement, eyes tracing the little boy's profile. He seemed to be favoring his mother already in appearance - admittedly a grasping assessment that distinguished little when his parents were also second cousins, once removed - but one could not deny that Sirius was a beautiful little boy.

Feeling her husband's arms snake around her from behind, Lucretia leaned back against his chest with a soft huff, hand finally lifting from her nephew's back. Ignatius did not ask her if she was feeling alright, and for that, she was grateful. Many of the ladies who surrounded her day in and day out would lament of their husbands' lack of loquacious pursuit, and others still would brag upon their husbands for asking after every little thing. Lucretia could not relate to the way they grappled when words - even words meant well - so often felt like a soft suffocation; but for all his warm chatter, the gift of silence that Ignatius gave her made Lucretia feel like she could breathe.

All the talk of Walburga's age, the fleeting slip of time, turned Lucretia's stomach more than she would like to admit. Lucretia, too, was thirty-five, but with no child to show for it - and not for a lack of trying, whatever Uncle Pollux said of it. Her children would not bear the name of Black, regardless, yet the sense of failure burned hot in her gut. Her own parents would not mock her as Pollux did his own sister and children, but she envied the pride and relief in their eyes when they looked at Orion and his child - soon to be children, if fate allowed it.

"I know what you're thinking, love," Ignatius said quietly in her ear as he rested his temple against her own, breaking the stretch of silence.

"Are you a Legilimens now?"

"No, I just know you and that look."

"Then you know I don't want to talk about it," she said with a little frown, though she shifted to lean a little more comfortably in his arms.

"You are a brilliant, shining star," he continued anyway, giving her torso a gentle squeeze, "and if we are to be two forever, your light is enough for me."

Salty pinpricks stung her eyes, and she held her face in a stony stare, afraid if she spoke, if she flickered even a muscle, she would crumble. It felt like a lie, knowing how much he loved children, how much he wanted little red- and brown-haired Prewetts running around with their books and their brooms, but the sincerity in his tone just made her chest clench tighter.

i _'I said I didn't want to talk about it,'_ /i Lucretia opened her mouth to say, but her throat constricted immediately; and in avoidance of an embarrassing crack, she closed her mouth again. Instead, she blinked a treacherous tear and felt the silence wrap taut around them, refusing to look back until she felt the trail dry along her cheek, leaving only the cool ghost of its path.

It was a Christmas miracle, the promise of a new baby in the family. She wondered if she would ever stop wishing it was her own, but for now, this was her reality.


	8. Cygnus: Christmas of 1974

**Note: **Written by kuchikopi

* * *

The Mayfair house was bathed in white and blue. Druella had arranged for fake blasts of snow to blow over visitors as they entered, and the reactions had varied from startled delight from one of Druella's younger nieces to the staunch lack of reaction as Uncle Arcturus brushed it off. Cygnus had been almost sure he heard a titter from his wife's direction, but he supposed Aunt Melania was not wound quite as tightly as her husband or the entire branch would be a total write-off.

The guests trickled in at a steady pace, with Walburga and Orion coming in last as per usual. "Do _not_ ask," Walburga said, unloading her coat on the house elf before everyone hustled inside away from the sharp cold.

It would be fair to say that it was an uneventful Christmas beyond the addition of Narcissa's boyfriend. Druella was quite besotted with the boy; a little foppish for his tastes, but he seemed to make Narcissa happy. He was from a good family, so he supposed she could do much worse, and it always made things much easier if there was a genuine connection between the two. Watching his father and the boy getting into what could only be described as a bragging contest every half an hour was certainly entertaining.

After dinner, everyone gathered in the drawing room in their usual gatherings to presumably talk about each other without being heard. The silent corner lived up its name, and he could see Evan talking some of the other boys – except Sirius, who he could just about see the top of his head slithering halfway into a sulk over something or other – but including Regulus, despite being a smidge younger than most. By the murderous expression on Bellatrix's face, his own mother was having another 'wifely duties' discussion with his eldest. She had other duties to her mind, and it wasn't as if they would hold the name up anyway.

"Excuse me," Narcissa said loudly, standing up with a glass. "I'd like to make an announcement."

"Oh, I knew it, I _knew_ it!" Druella probably thought she was whispering discreetly, but by the looks of the room, just about everyone heard her.

"I suppose I should say, _we_ would like to make an announcement," Narcissa said, with the faintest hint of blush.

"Is she in the family way?" Mother asked.

"Not everything is about babies," Bellatrix hissed, clearly beginning to lose her nerves with the woman.

"Well, it should be."

"Perhaps in due course," Malfoy piped up, also taking a glass. "But it's an engagement we're announcing."

"If you'd let them," Bellatrix commented dryly.

Of course, that led to an explosion within the room as people congratulated her. It was a funny feeling, the more Cygnus thought about it. Narcissa was his youngest, and now even she was moving on and making a family of her own. To have his girls all grown up, getting married, making a difference in the world, it was enough to make him feel worn.

(He steadfastly refused to think of the one they'd lost, not in a happy moment such a this.)

The commentary came thick and fast.

"Narcissa is a good girl, she's getting married before all of that," Druella was telling his mother. It was probably the most ridiculous thing she could have said.

"You realise, my dear-" Extraneous pleasantries, that was never much of a good sign. "That by this logic, neither you nor I were, as you put it, 'good girls'?"

"Sometimes being besotted can override the purest of thoughts," Druella flashed a look and batted her eyelashes in the usual over-the-top manner. Cygnus snorted, long used to her dramatics, and in truth, a little amused by them. Druella had remained largely unchanged in all of the years he'd known her, and he appreciated the consistency.

"We're sure that's a bloke, right?" The sounds of the resident heir caught his attention, as did that country twang he seemed to have picked up. At least his girls were educated, even if they didn't carry the name forth.

"Lucius is a good match," Evan was saying. Apparently, the engagement was enough to get those two talking. "He's very well connected."

"He's nouveau riche," he said, bastardising the accent.

The boy may have had a slight point; the Malfoys had the money and influence, yes, and there was no doubt they had an old line, but their popularity and their outspoken support of pure society had been much more recent than most. They were a little more loose than he prefered, and not to mention the ostentatious displays they were becoming well known for.

But Narcissa liked occasion, and she liked him, and in comparison to...other things, he could definitely be worse.

"Congratulations, young man." Cygnus shook his hand firmly, and was surprised by the grip back.

"Thank you, sir." At least he kept to some tradition, which was more than could be said for many in their dwindling lineage.

"Thank you," Narcissa said, foregoing all ceremony to hug him.

For a moment, it felt as if she were once again a five-year-old girl dressing in the net curtains and taking flowers from the entrance hall, her sister...what had been her sister playing her down some imaginary aisle to marry a stuffed toy. The real day had seemed so far away then. It was suffocatingly close now.

It seemed Druella had been experiencing much the same line of thought; he found her sometime later, sobbing into a handkerchief.

"Happy tears," she promised, through a watery smile. "She's very happy."

"She'll make an excellent wife," Cygnus said, sitting down beside his wife and handing her a clean cloth. "She had a wonderful role model."

"Oh, you choose now to be charming," Druella wailed. "I just keep seeing her pushing those dolls Alphard used to get her up and down the garden, giving them different names every time she learned one with a new meaning she thought was pretty and having tea with- having tea, and how she used to take my net curtains, do you remember?"

"I remember," he said, quietly.

Druella laughed through her tears. "I know she was never meant to be the last, but since she was, she's always felt so special. And now a woman of twenty!"

"We'll still see her," he said, trying to reassure himself as much as her. "And as you say, a grandchild or two would be nice."

"They're both very pretty," Druella admitted, taking a drink. "There should be very pretty children."

"Boys aren't pretty, Dru," Cygnus snorted.

"Oh, you could hardly call him strapping, could you?" She swatted him. "But he's pretty, and he loves her, and they're good for each other. I am happy for her, I swear."

"I am too," Cygnus said. He could finish the thought for her. Being happy for her to have this, but being sad for the nest to be empty so soon.

"You know, you could always have traded me in," Druella said, teasingly. "But you didn't. Loyalty is such an important thing these days."

"I could not have traded you in," Cygnus rolled his eyes at her. "Anyone I would have looked at would have been beaten to death with one of those bags you're so fond of before I'd a second look."

"And don't you forget it," she giggled, and in the nostalgia, she too sounded like the teenager she never seemed to grow past being. "Go make excuses for me, I need to freshen up."

Despite the fact that Druella had always been a very emotional woman and they'd seen her burst to tears a thousand times, Cygnus did as told. Sometimes, it was the little things that allowed you to save face, and if he could give her that, he would.


	9. Walburga: Christmas of 1963

**Note:** Written by kuchikopi

* * *

The piercing sound of the bell travelled into the dining room, but Walburga was paying it little mind. She needed to make sure the protection charms on the glasses were solid; five children at the dinner table meant all the more chance of the intricate glassware meeting its end. At least Cygnus' girls were beginning to look and act more like adults: Bellatrix had entered her second year at Hogwarts, Andromeda would begin next year and despite the seemingly endless need for praise and attention, Narcissa was as well mannered as you could hope for in an eight-year-old.

Kreacher appeared suddenly. "Master Arcturus has arrived."

"I see," Walburga said, looking at the time. She had expected her own parents before them, but it wasn't totally unexpected. "Situate them in the drawing room, then please inform my husband his parents have arrived."

As if answering her thoughts, the door went again, but Kreacher announced Aunt Cassiopeia instead. She asked him to take her upstairs, situate her somewhere she could talk to herself, and to make sure any animals she brought in were not left lying around for people to trip over. The amount of times that her father had almost done himself an injury on the damn things was enough to make her wonder if it was deliberate.

Another of the guests arrived as she checked on the lights; nothing too gaudy, she refused to make the place into the ridiculous spectacle that Cygnus tended to with his own home. It was demeaning to the history of the house to place candy canes and fairy wings on portraits, regardless of the time of year. It made it look cheap. But of course, it was Cygnus, Druella, and their daughters, and Druella could not let it go without comment.

"Have you seen the decor?" she said, supposedly to Melania, but it may as well have been addressing the whole room. "How...charmingly understated."

As if Druella Rosier understood the meaning of class.

By the next call of the bell, the plating was done, the food was coming along at a satisfactory pace, she had spent a minimal time in the company of guests both boisterous and sedate, and both boys were still down for a much needed nap. Or so she had thought. Having seen Kreacher in the kitchen, she was surprised to find the door already open downstairs and the high-pitched baby-talk her mother tended to reserve for the children.

"Such an ickle gentleman," Mother was cooing.

She could practically hear the judgement in her father's voice when he spoke. "I thought I gave you a house-elf."

"You did," Walburga said.

"Then why is your eldest opening the door?"

An excellent, if inconvenient question. "Don't answer the door," Walburga told him. "You're supposed to be asleep. Did you just leave your brother in there by himself?"

"He sleeps too much," Sirius said, entirely too irritably for a child that's just had a nap.

"You don't sleep enough," Walburga replied. Having recently turned four, he'd decided he was too old to take naps during the day and just got increasingly belligerent throughout the day. At least putting them down together meant he slept a little – or stayed quiet for a little while.

"Well, he's up now!" Mother said, picking up Sirius under the arms. "Why don't you come up with us, hmm?"

"Mother, do not pick him up, he does not like it," Walburga said. The last thing tonight needed was her son kicking his grandmother in the stomach.

"He's fine," Mother cooed, bouncing him a little. "Sometimes, children just need someone with a bit more experience."

As she watched them go upstairs with barely a squirm, Walburga decided this was going to be a very long day. She managed to stay out of the way for a while, checking, double-checking, and triple-checking on everything, but the dinner would be ready soon. It was going to be the first time with everyone at the table, so she wanted to make sure the baby was up and ready too. However, picking him up, he was obviously still a little tired – it was possible Sirius had woken him when he'd gone wandering, and he hadn't had enough sleep either. She swore that child needed to learn how to be still.

She headed back down to the drawing room with Regulus on her hip. He was small for his age, but there was no mistaking that he was probably more of a toddler than a baby now. However, toddler had the connotation of endless energy, sleepless nights, broken ornaments and screaming fits, and thus far, in comparison, he'd been downright sedate.

"And can you see where you are?"

"There!"

Mother was apparently still messing about with her eldest; over at the family tree, no less. Walburga had been having nightmares about what might happen to it, and there was her own dear mother, encouraging the sticky hands of children over a sacred document.

"And where's your brother?"

Sirius put his whole hand on the bottom of the parchment. "There!"

"Yes, see, that little line means siblings and that one, see between your mother and father, means married. You'll have to add one of those when you're older." Mother was looking at it critically. "Oh, we may need more space at the bottom for the children too."

"I think you have some time," Finally, Orion chooses to interject.

"Babies are boring; they just sleep." Sirius replied.

"You'll feel differently when you're older," Mother said, quietly.

"Maybe when I'm really, really old," Sirius didn't seem very convinced. "Like Mum."

"Thank you," Walburga said, dryly. "He knows how to read the tree, Mum. Let him alone, he's not a party trick."

"Oh, and is that my youngest grandson?" Mother ignored her completely, taking the baby from her and bouncing him a little. "He's still very light, are you sure he's eating enough?"

She should have just taken the baby and gone to have tea. The baby was easy; as long as Regulus was held, he was happy to sit there quietly. He had none of the confusion she tended to have with Sirius, where half the time he seemed to want to be picked up constantly and the rest of the time, he screamed and kicked if she tried. It would have been so much more quiet and less condescending at tea.

"Dinner is about to be served," she gritted out.

In the dining room, it took a while for everyone to get situated into a comfortable order, but once they had, the dinner went splendidly. Good food kept conversational chatter to a minimum, the children seemed to enjoy being at the adults' table and were attempting some kind of good behaviour, and even Druella had only made two more comments about the décor.

When it was over, everyone seemed quiet and sated. The men headed off for chatter in the study about who knows what, there was a gossiping gaggle she had no intention of joining, and Walburga took the opportunity to put the children down. Though naps were easier in the nursery, Sirius had gotten his own room on the top floor on his fourth birthday a month and a half before, so both needed situating separately.

"We're going to go now," Lucretia said quietly. "I'll say goodnight to the boys."

"They're already asleep," Walburga said absently.

Lucretia and her husband looked at each other in a way that contradicted that statement. _Not again_. "Where?" she said, sharply.

"Second floor landing," Lucretia said.

But he wasn't on the second floor landing, nor his room, nor in the nursery. Frustrated, Walburga began to check the other rooms – the drawing room had only the women, the study only the men who seemed to react with such shock that she'd walked in that you'd think they'd been in a state of undress, the kitchen only Kreacher, and as she started to check each room in turn, a horrible thought struck her: what if he'd gone outside? He'd been playing with the door earlier. One of the most terrible encroachments of magic had been muggles springing up all around their area, and he was barely four, in his bed clothes, and the child had never used a wand in his life. What if something happened? Why hadn't she locked the door, or installed some sort of alarm? She had known for weeks he'd become prone to wandering.

"What's the matter?" Lucretia was still in the entrance hall and for a moment, Walburga considered telling her to mind her own business. But she had known her for the longest time, and she supposed if she were to name a friend, it would be the nearest name on the list.

"Sirius got up again," she said.

To her credit, she wasn't slow. "I'll take a look around. He may have just gone exploring, he's very curious."

"I'll take a quick nip outside," Ignatius offered, "Just in case the snow held some appeal."

She ought to tell Orion, perhaps, but honestly, what would he do other than wring his hands over it? He'd never been much use in a crisis with that irritating calm.

To her embarrassment, Sirius decided to make himself known: he had apparently decided that the fireplace in the drawing room was an excellent spot to try to climb and had fallen asleep in the soot, only falling loudly and filthily - but without injury - when he'd awoken.

Once she'd checked him for injury and found none, all of the anxiety bled out of Walburga. " _What is wrong with you?_ " She couldn't keep the shriek from her tone. He'd loved the room when he'd been given it, so why wouldn't he sleep in it? Why did he have to bring her to nausea with worry? "Why can you not do a single thing you're told? You're told old for this! Grow up."

For a brief moment, Sirius' face seemed to wobble and for a horrible split-second, Walburga thought he would going to burst into tears right here in front of people. Four was entirely too old to be crying in front of people. But then he didn't – but she wasn't sure the screaming tantrum was any better. He was clearly exhausted and fighting sleep, but it didn't mean he wasn't prepared to screech the house down.

In the end, she'd had to put them both back to bed as he'd managed to wake his brother, catch the attention of the study-goers, and humiliate her in front of her mother and sister-in-law and that crazy cat woman who appeared to have more control over her bloody animals than she managed over her own child. She had been right the first time; it had been a very, very long day indeed, and next year would have to be better.


	10. The Black Brothers: Christmas of 1973

**Note:** Written by both tonberrys and kuchikopi

* * *

The Black family maisonette was bedecked with Christmas cheer, but it was the peace found in a hop across the Channel that seemed to loosen the holiday tensions. A niffler had invited itself to last year's family gathering, though their grandfather never admitted it was what the boys had spotted through the window, and Regulus wouldn't dare revisit the question. Most of their holidays had a mesh of calm and chaos, but for so many of those years, it was - for the most part - a familiar mix as Aunt Druella strung her live decorations or Aunt Cassiopeia's cats crawled into spaces they oughtn't be or Uncle Alphard told wine-enhanced stories of his time abroad.

This year, however, it was the Blacks of Grimmauld Place who were venturing beyond the bounds of Great Britain, leaving behind the company of extended family in favour of a parisian Christmas. Through the window, Regulus could see the bustling markets of wizarding Paris thrumming in a neighborhood adjacent to their own. Regulus thought he saw something large and white moving through a crack between two buildings, but even as he stood on his toes to crane a better look, he could not tell if he'd imagined it or not.

Regulus had never seen a unicorn in person before and knew well that their speed (if not the reverence bestowed upon them) was enough to spare them the indignity of domestication, so it could not logically be that, but he could not help but entertain the thought of some majestic unicorn clopping about the streets. At that, a little smile formed on his lips.

Sirius poked his head around the door, already dressed for the winter weather that amounted more to rain than snow. "They're going out," he announced without preamble.

Twisting around, Regulus took in his brother's wintery appearance, a certain measure of anticipation starting to rise as he thought about wandering out into the French Christmas scenery.

"Mum and Dad?" Regulus asked, though he really needn't when there was no other 'they' to refer to in the house, at present. Already, he was standing to go grab his own layers to pile on.

"No, your multitude of invisible friends." Sirius rolled his eyes with a slight shake of his head. "An opera or something equally terrible that Dad'll fall asleep at and claim was wonderful. I'll pass, thanks. There's got to be something better to do."

Regulus flicked his eyes down to the (contrarily sported Gryffindor) scarf wrapped snugly around his brother's neck, then up to his face again. Clearly, Sirius did not intend for that 'something better' to take place within the maisonette. "It looks like there are markets in the next neighborhood," he said, the suggestion hanging in his tone as he gestured toward the window.

Sirius' eyes flicked to the window, pacing in place on his feet in indecision. "It's got potential," he conceded. "Hurry up, if you're coming."

Regulus's eyes lit up as he nodded, careful to keep the rush of enthusiasm in check as he slipped out of the room to gather his winter warmth. Scarcely a minute had passed when Regulus appeared again, bundled in his own green and silver scarf, which hung loose over a black winter cloak as he exercised every bit of self control to stop himself from scampering up to Sirius. His brother was already standing at the front door, looking as if he was readying to walk out on his own, but even at twelve, Regulus refused the indignity of looking too excited about the trip.

"I'm ready," he announced as he reached his brother's side.

"Have you charmed your shoes? I'm not spending all night and day picking you up," Sirius asked, looking over him with a critical eye. "Assuming you're capable."

"I'm capable," Regulus countered with a little huff to his tone as he pulled his wand out of his pocket. In that moment, he wished he'd remembered to cast the charm before saying he was ready (to say it was already done might have proven the point of independence more effectively), but following a reminder was still better than stomping about with freezing wet feet.

Lifting up his right foot, Regulus cast an impervius charm first to that shoe, then to the other. Tipping his chin up and lifting his brow, he stuck his wand in his pocket again, and both hands buried in their respective cloak pockets as he looked to Sirius again. "Let's go."

"Impatient," Sirius scowled, but there was very little heat to it. There was very little heat anywhere, as they scurried down to the busy Christmas market.

Though snow had not been forecast and it was more flurries and slush, there were charms in the air, and the singing, swinging wooden figures at the opening were covered over their shoulders. In the middle, a large carousel took carved horses and small children around in a bobbing circle with fretting parents riding beside many of them. Sirius had little interest in the childish toys nor the booths of various ornaments and adornments. He declared them "boring" as he made a line straight for the games and activities instead, wanting to see what was available.

Behind him, Regulus paused. Raking his eyes over each booth and breathing in the aroma of sweet and savory snacks wafting from a section further down, the younger boy wove through the crowd in a half-baked attempt to keep up with his brother without actually spending much time looking at the back of his brother's head.

Off to the side, standing upon a slightly raised stage of sorts, a small group of children were singing what sounded to be Christmas carols, but in French. A smile spread wider on Regulus's face, and he tried to pick apart what they were saying without focusing too much on the familiar tune - more of a struggle, when Sirius was pulling further ahead, but he slowed nonetheless to focus. Before starting school at Hogwarts, he and his brother both had received language tutoring - a call back to their _toujours pur_ French roots - and Regulus had taken the language to heart. Not many among his friends at school had done as much, only Evan with his own French Rosier roots, but however infrequent its use, he quite liked it.

The carolers' voices were clear like bells, some bright and some warm as they wove a harmonious tapestry to hang over the low rumble of voices around him. With a little smile, Regulus wrapped his arms around himself in a tight hug and tucked his hands for warmth.

As one carol gave way to another, Regulus glanced to the side again to find that his brother had moved well on without him, disappearing from sight somewhere in the general direction he'd been walking towards. A little bundle of nerves knotted in his chest, and with it the immediate urge to find Sirius - but he was twelve years old now, not some toddler, and Regulus reminded himself with an embarrassed huff that their home here in France was just a neighborhood over.

Sirius might come back for him, but Regulus knew his brother could just as easily get distracted and fail to notice his missing companion, so Regulus began moving through the crowds towards the activities spread out some ways ahead. Just beyond the choir, Regulus could see a stall full to the brim with magical snow globes, puffing up their snow over a variety of glittering, moving scenes. Some of the 'snow globes' didn't actually have glass - making them more a snow scene than a snow globe, Regulus felt - but the execution was precisely done, and as he paused for a peek, he thought they were quite interesting, whatever they were technically meant to be called.

* * *

Although they lived in London, a city renowned for its character and busy atmosphere, Number Twelve had always felt like an enormous wall between the reality of the city and what their lives entailed. As such, having a little more freedom to wander about in the holidays was a rare and treasured feeling for Sirius, easily distracted by bright lights, singing, what looked like a variation of pin the tail on the animal, a supposed seer, and people trying to hit hovering cans. Sirius stopped for the last one; he had a decent aim, and though he had absolutely no use for a glowing nose reindeer plush, he supposed it was worth it just to get everything to knock down.

Regulus was always so quiet that he barely noticed him. He was still with the choir when Sirius went to try playing a popping balloon game, but he'd follow along. He always did _eventually_. The gingerbread sculptures caught his attention next. There were people trying to make their own houses and making a mess of it, but ones he assumed were professional were kind of neat. There was a teapot house, a giant clocktower, even a townhouse that looked a little like home. He briefly entertained the idea of getting it, the briefest of the brief ideas being that even their parents might appreciate the craftsmanship and obvious spellwork involved, but he dismissed it out of hand. He could hear the berating for the lack of culture they'd experienced and how they'd wasted their free time already. It wasn't wasted, and it looked pretty cultural to him, but Sirius was starting to believe these were just the standards set by adults. When they do things, it's cultural and entertaining, no matter how sodding boring it is, and when you're young, it's all a waste.

It wasn't a waste. They'd frozen a small rink and people were following over on it and laughing about it instead of acting like it was the worst thing in the world to be seen failing at something. They were having fun.

Having worked himself into an irritated tizzy at the imaginary play of an argument, Sirius turned to find that Regulus was no longer at the choir. He looked around, but it was packed, and Regulus was still baby-sized.

" _Damn it_ ," he hissed, breath smoking in the cold. He was going to get skinned alive if he managed to lose the golden child.

* * *

Regulus was wandering away from the stall of enchanted snow globes when an old woman and a younger woman (who looked much like the elder, just blonder and less wrinkled) waved to a plate of cookies and other sweets that smelled wonderful, asking kindly in French if he'd like a treat. Pleased though he was with his ability to recognise what they'd asked him (simple and contextual though it was), he walked on past the sweets and the table covered in winter accessories charmed to keep warm. Above the pile hovered two needles, knitting more right there in the moment as a young witch hung back in a chair and sipped something warm from a mug.

In that moment, Regulus was struck with how much he would like something warm from a mug, but without a word, he cut past another small knot of people moving through the crowds.

When at last Regulus reached the games and activities, he didn't see his brother anywhere - not popping balloons or hooking rings with engorged candy canes or trying to net the fairy that wore a bell while avoiding the fairies without a bell. Confident as Regulus was in his reflexes, he thought the latter seemed fun enough, but with a more steeling discipline, he resisted the urge in favour of his continued search.

Drumming up his French (and trying his best to emulate the proper accent and conjugation, rusty though it was), Regulus asked a few of the adults standing around if they'd seen a boy with a red and yellow scarf. Most had not, but on the fourth request, a boy only a few years older than his brother motioned back in the direction Regulus had come, back towards the choir and the snacks and the knitting table. Regulus offered his thanks and maneuvered his way out of the games and back into the thronging crowd.

* * *

Sirius considered asking if someone had seen him, but he'd never quite managed to get his tenses right, and it had meant asking was a bit of an ordeal. Sirius had always been a far more practical learner, so he was sure he'd pick things up a hell of a lot more if he just chatted to people, but standing about chatting to the locals had never been exactly encouraged. It took going through the crowd in a circle to note the familiar colours of the Slytherin scarf more so than anything else. "Where the hell did you disappear to?" he asked, huffily.

Regulus turned to look at him, recognition dawning immediately.

"I stopped to listen to the choir," Regulus admitted, "Then I couldn't find you, so I decided to look."

"We're both idiots then, that's reassuring." Sirius grumbled; two idiots going about trying to find each other in holiday crowds. "Tap me next time. Or yell, do you know how to yell? I'm sure it's somewhere in your blood."

"I know _how_ to yell," Regulus said with prim defensiveness, burying his hands deeper in his cloak, "I just prefer not to."

"From your stomach," Sirius said, patting at his through the layers. "Speaking of stomachs, do you want to eat or do something?"

Regulus nodded, eyes scanning the stalls and setups - snacks and activities alike - then looked back to his brother.

"This is why I don't ask what you want to do, you don't answer." Sirius huffed, before taking his arm and pulling him towards the gingerbread house stand. "Race you."

A small smile spread on Regulus lips, and just a beat later, the two boys were bolting through the crowd, the call of Christmas festivities still flashing around them. Expectations and the adults that enforced them were nowhere to be seen, and frivolous though it was, in that moment, they could celebrate as they pleased.


End file.
